


Sastiel Love Week, August 2018

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Lucifer cameo, M/M, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Sastiel Love Week, dean winchester cameo, referenced canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: August 2018 Sastiel Love Week collection. Individual day summaries and warnings will be in the notes before each chapter.Day I, Firsts: The Naming Of NamesDay II, AU: Trade a Smile With Someone Who's BlueDay III, Outsider POV: Never Had A Full HouseDay IV, Angst: Tempting You And All The EarthDay V, Just Couple Things: Which Side Are You On?Day VI, Episode Related: Bring It On HomeDay VII, Domestic: You Know It's Only Natural





	1. Day I, Firsts: The Naming Of Names

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rodinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/gifts).



> Warning: canon angelic assholery.

**T** HE FIRST TIME Sam Winchester ever said Castiel's name was in the middle of a spell. Castiel was not the only angel called upon for that spell, nor was he the only angel to lend his Grace to the spell in aid of the hunter. He was, however, the only angel to linger once the spell was completed, watching the young hunter with the brilliant soul. The shadows of grief and anger clung to him, fed by the darkness rooted in demon blood fed to him as a child, but the brightness... oh, that glorious, faithful brightness of his soul....

His superiors noticed his preoccupation, of course. He was taken aside several times, shown the boy whom he watched as the darkness grew and was fed.  _ "This is the boy with the demon blood," _ they whispered to him.  _ "He who is prophesied to raise Lucifer. His fate is sealed, Castiel. You should forget him and focus your attention on the Righteous Man." _

_ "But why?" _ he wanted to ask.  _ "Why must we shun a boy who prays faithfully and privately, as humans are meant to? Why must we ignore a boy who clearly seeks to know our Father? Who prays not for himself but for others?" _

_ "He is the boy with the demon blood, Azazel's chosen," _ they said again.

And again, when Dean Winchester sold his soul for his younger brother.

And again, when the demon Ruby began to draw Sam into her web.

And again, when Dean was torn apart by hellhounds and Lilith fled from Sam's presence.

And again, when Sam tried and failed to deal with demons at the crossroads, to trade places with his brother, and was rebuffed each time.

And again, just before Castiel's garrison was sent to harrow Hell and retrieve the finally located Righteous Man and raise him from perdition.

_ "Sam Winchester is the boy with the demon blood. Remember this, Castiel, and do not stray from Heaven's Plan." _

The first time that Castiel said Sam Winchester's name, the recitation slipped from his Vessel's lips without thought.  _ "Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood." _ It was the first time that Castiel learned that words could wound a human heart as much as any blade or bullet.


	2. Day II, AU: Trade A Smile With Someone Who's Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neighbors AU, much fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None

**T** HE APARTMENT AT the end of the hall was both comfort and torment for Castiel Vienatve. No, Castiel thought to himself, that was imprecise, because the apartment itself was immaterial. It was the man who lived in the apartment who caused both comfort and torment in the introverted, socially awkward former pilot.

Comfort, he felt, because the man was an angel. Well, probably not a literal angel, as years of involuntary Catholicism had left him with the impression of angels as divine automatons, following God's will without thought or motivation of their own. But if true angels existed in the world, made of the love God felt for all of his children, then surely Sam Winchester must be one of them. He was kind, always having a friendly smile and a helping hand for any of his neighbors, Castiel included. He was gentle despite his greater height and broad, strong shoulders, treating children and animals kindly without being condescending and always considerate of physical or verbal cues for personal space.

And he was agonizingly, infuriatingly gorgeous, whether pressed into a three-piece suit and tie, or sweat-slicked in shorts and a singlet from his morning run, or even wearing muddy jeans and ragged flannel with his hair full of leaves and brambles. It was the last that caught and held Castiel's attention now, blue eyes wide as he stared at the approaching figure which looked very much like he had been rolled down a muddy embankment and into a blackberry thicket. And then Sam looked up, and Castiel was treated to the sight of that weary countenance melting into a sheepish smile that showed dimples beneath the dirt and stubble.

_ Unfair! _  shouted his brain.

_ Please? _  whispered his heart.

What actually came out of his mouth was, "That must have been quite a trip."

If Castiel had thought that bashful smile full of dimples was unfair, it was nothing compared to the full on beaming grin that spread across Sam's face in answer to his words. He very nearly swallowed his tongue when Sam  _ laughed _ , the sound bubbling up like some sort of fountain made of joy and sound, and oh, God above, there was no way this man could still be mortal and also be real.

"Yeah, things kinda went sideways on us," Sam was saying as Castiel wrestled his brain and heart back under control. "The good news is, the horse survived. The bad news is, Uncle Bobby's old truck didn't." While Castiel was trying to figure out what a horse had to do with anything, no matter how glad he was that it had apparently survived its recent ordeal, Sam shoved a hand back through his hair and grimaced. "Not sure my hair survived, either."

"Need some help with that?"

The surprise that crossed Sam's face coincided with the realization that Castiel had said that out loud. Castiel cringed internally as he felt the all too familiar heat suffusing his face the way it so often did around Sam. He floundered, casting around desperately in his unhelpful brain for something to say that would make the situation less awkward, when Sam surprised him yet again with a new kind of smile, one that looked to Castiel to be some sort of cross between hopeful and pleased.

"Really?" he asked. Castiel could almost swear the man had sprouted puppy ears and a wagging tail to go with those eyes. "I mean, I was just going to try and wash as much off in the shower as possible and hope the barber wouldn't have to cut too much off tomorrow, but if you're serious--"

"I'm completely serious," Castiel found himself breaking in, and he meant it. It would be a crime to see that normally soft mane of chestnut hair chopped short because of a few brambles. That, however, was probably not something he should admit to Sam's face, and so he added, "And I would not mind hearing more about the predicament of the horse and how you came to its rescue."

"I guess it's only fair to tell you why you're probably going to be pulling half a blackberry patch out of my hair," Sam said with a return of that dimpled grin that made Castiel's knees feel significantly less solid. He glanced at the sealed envelopes still clutched, forgotten, in Castiel's hand, and asked, "Do you have time now, or were you on your way out?"

"Just got back," Castiel lied, lifting the post that could honestly wait another few hours before they had to be in the post box for the carrier to pick up. "Just let me toss these on the table and hang up my jacket and I'll be right there. Three-oh-seven?"

"Three-oh-seven," Sam confirmed with a nod as he turned to head down the hall. Casting another bright grin over his shoulder, he added, "I'll be waiting!"

Castiel felt that he could be forgiven for just dropping the post on the table and flinging his jacket across the nearest chair in his haste to get out of his apartment so as not to keep Sam waiting for long.

Just this once.


	3. Day III, Outsider POV: Never Had A Full House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Sastiel from the perspective of Jack Kline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dean's asshole behavior.

**F** ROM THE MOMENT Jack had laid eyes on Sam, he had seen it. There were tangles of Grace wrapped around the burning brilliant light that made up this person, Grace that matched what pulsed inside him and _other_ Grace that matched what he had Felt while still inside his mother, the Grace she had told him belonged to Castiel.

_"Father?"_

The man denied the title, yet he still knew his name, the name his mother had whispered into his heart with her dying breath. The man felt fear, and there was thunder and anger, and so Jack fled, looking for his Father, for Castiel... and the man came for him again. Sat with him in the small room with three walls and a line of metal bars. He felt fear, but he spoke with an even voice that kept the fear behind a wall of kindness. Gentleness. He spoke of Castiel with warmth, and with pain, admitting to Jack that his Father (not Lucifer, though now Jack wondered if that was the name put to the other Grace, the Grace within him that matched the other traces inside Sam which were different from Castiel) was dead.

When the angels came, their Grace harsh and hostile against his own, Jack was not so overwhelmed that he was unaware of how Sam reacted to protect him from the angels despite their greater strength and power. The banishing sigil that Sam used felt so strange, pulling at that deeply-rooted part of him that was an angel as if it might rip him in two, but Sam's hand on his shoulder grounded him, helped him focus and pull himself quite literally back together. The blade that other angel shoved through his chest hurt, but not as bad as hearing Sam's brother talk about killing him had. If an angel blade couldn't kill him, though....

He kept those thoughts to himself, even as he watched the burning pyre where his Mother and his Father's bodies lay and listened to Sam explain what people might say at funerals. Saying goodbye seemed like it would be a good thing to do, but the words got caught behind the lump in Jack's throat over never having gotten the chance to say "hello" first. He was grateful that neither Sam nor Dean seemed to notice as they grieved the loss of his Father... their friend.

And so it went. Sam continued to help him, to teach him and encourage him. Dean continued to hold himself apart from Jack, critical and unwelcoming despite the way he stopped Jack from stabbing himself. The hole left behind in their family was imperfectly filled by Jack, but he knew it was an imperfect fit, though he had no idea how he could make himself fit better, or even if he should. Even with the fighting that he couldn't help but overhear, Jack didn't truly understand what it meant for Sam and Dean that his Father was dead... until he wasn't.

Castiel's return showed Jack just how much he had missed, how much he had been acting on incomplete information. Watching Castiel and Dean interact was so much like watching Dean and Sam interact that Jack occasionally had to blink to be sure he was seeing the correct beings in those places. Watching Castiel and Sam just stand next to each other, however, was entirely new and different.

Sam _relaxed_ in Castiel's presence, the tension leaving him in a way it never had around Jack, or even around Dean when Jack wasn't in the room. His shoulders lost some of their constant readiness, and the light inside him glowed more brightly. Castiel, by comparison, seemed to burn more brightly, his wings more animated whenever Sam was near. Jack was fascinated to watch how they would spread open whenever Sam appeared, how the tattered feathers seemed to try to fill and fluff up, how whichever wing was nearest to Sam seemed to try and curl around his larger frame in a way that made Jack think of a hug. Jack started trying to mimic those gestures, just a little, but his own wings were still very small and didn't have very many mature feathers.

When the man died on the case, when he realized that the greatest threat to his Father and his Dad was himself, when Jack realized that he would have to leave to protect them, he hoped that by the time he had control of his powers enough to not be a danger to anyone, he could greet his family as both a human and an angel.


	4. Day IV, Angst: Tempting You And All The Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endverse Castiel wasn't holding on for Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lucifer, demons, canon death of endverse!Dean

**H** E KNEW IT was a suicide mission.

_ Dean _ knew it was a suicide mission.

Even that painfully young alternate universe Dean that had showed up out of nowhere clearly knew that it was a suicide mission.

Castiel could have told Dean that the fabled Colt, the gun that had taken so much blood to obtain, would never work against an Archangel inhabiting his True Vessel, even a fallen and disgraced Archangel such as Lucifer. Not with the strength and power of Sam Winchester's once-beautiful, broken soul for Lucifer to tap into, never so much as to use it all up, a continually renewing wellspring of power that fed Lucifer's Grace like a glacier run off might have once fed the sea.

There were no more glaciers. Hellfire had melted them all away during the first year, raising the sea levels and drowning huge populations of island or coastal people, forcing humanity further and further inland, herded like cattle for the Croats to feed upon and the demons to pick among the rest for hosts.

Castiel wondered sometimes if Lucifer did that just because he knew it would hurt Sam more. He always drowned such thoughts in opiates and cannabis smoke, strangling to purely psychological pain behind the wall of numbness and sexual pleasure that always paled in comparison to the memory of the once fleeting brush of Sam's hand and the shy flicker of his eyes behind a curtain of hair. Graceless and cut off from Heaven as he was, abandoned by his brothers and emotionally left behind by his chosen General, his sober mind was still too sharp to forget, sharp enough to cut himself to pieces if he let it, so he didn't. Ever. Let it.

He was forced to keep a certain level of sobriety before the mission. Dean wouldn't allow anyone to go who wasn't "firing on at least half-cyllanders" as he put it, and Younger Dean had looked so honestly frightened by Castiel's drug use and sexual debauchery that the former angel just didn't have the heart left in him to argue.

The angel once accused of having too much heart, now with barely enough heart to spare his only remaining might-have-been-family.

Abaddon was the one who caught him, dragging him away from the others despite his efforts to remain behind and protect the few humans still left alive. The Knight of Hell was more than a match for him as he was, red painted lips framing pristine white teeth in a mockery of a pleasant smile.

"You don't die with them, little angel," she cooed. "Big Brother wants a word before you meet your end, and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Five years since Castiel had seen Sam Winchester, and yet his face remained unchanged, a testimate to Lucifer's presence inside his body even without the pristine white suit and the almost mocking edge to what might have been a fond smile curving his lips. Castiel's bones ached in an all too human way from where he had hit the ground when Abaddon shoved him to his knees before his former elder brother who wore his might-have-been lover's face, and his throat ached from dryness and the urge to retch or scream, but he did not dare look away.

"He's still in here, you know," Lucifer remarked with a casualness that was anything but truly casual. "Sam, I mean. I almost thought I might have to worry for my grip on him when I killed his brother, but the way that empty soul looked at us...."

"Dean no longer believed there was anything of his Sam left in you," Castiel rasped, a minute flinch escaping him at the raggedness of his voice.

"But you know better, don't you, Castiel," Lucifer crooned, coming closer. "You know that only Sam could truly inspire such creative savagery in me--"

"No," Castiel interrupted, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lucifer blink. He smiled, a wide and weary sort of grin that set his split lip bleeding again, and tilted his face up to look through Lucifer's eyes and into Sam. "I knew that even your savagery could never completely destroy Sam's kind heart and clever mind. Otherwise... Dean would still be alive."

"What--" Lucifer started, his eyes narrowing, only to be interrupted once again by Castiel's splintering laughter.

"It was a  _ mercy _ ," he gasped, swaying with the force of his amusement, of the irony being shown. "Killing Dean now... that poor broken bastard is finally at peace! He's free!" He slumped, as if by saying that, declaring that freedom, the strings that held him bound had likewise been severed. He clutched at the ragged, metaphorical ends, willing himself to hold on a little longer as Lucifer continued to stare at him.

"Explain," the formerly brightest Archangel of Heaven demanded, low and hard, and Castiel could not help but laugh again.

"Explain what? Did you think I was still here because I want to  _ live _ ?" he demanded of Lucifer, rocking and shuffling forward on his knees, another burst of shattered giggles escaping him as Lucifer actually took a step back. "Oh, no, big brother... I only stuck around because I wanted to see Sam one last time. 'Cause I knew you still had him."

"And what did you hope to gain by seeing him?" Lucifer asked, his lilting tone too tense for true mockery. "Another chance to overthrow me? Another futile chance to avert what is already far too late to stop?"

"Another chance to tell him what I should have said the day I took his hand," Castiel breathed, and saw the words strike home as Lucifer stilled.  _ Just a little longer now... _ "Sam Winchester, the boy with the purest soul on Earth or in Heaven... I love you... and I am honored to have been allowed to know you."

He let go at last, and the warehouse erupted in the light of Grace.


	5. Day V, Just Couple Things: Which Side Are You On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedsharing carries certain necessary negotiations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to nightmares

**S** AM ALWAYS TOOK the side of the bed closest to the door whenever he and Castiel shared a bed. It wasn't something they ever consciously talked about, just something that they sort of fell into, much like they had fallen into bed together that first time. It was human instinct to want to protect your loved ones, an instinct shown constantly in the way Dean would always take the bed closest to the door when the brothers shared a motel room on a hunt and Sam only ever argued when Dean was injured. Dean's pride rarely allowed him to give in, but Sam was tenacious.

Castiel went with it, because he rarely slept when he was at full or even half strength and could just as easily keep watch over Sam from anywhere in the room, and when he was at low strength or without his Grace it was the most sensible position. His own pride had taken plenty of beatings over the years since he first laid Grace on Dean in Hell, but he was not so proud as to deny Sam his instincts and, when it came down to it, it would be easier for an angel to argue with a Reaper than for a human to argue with the Empty.

Regardless of which side either of them slept on, there was one thing they were both absolutely clear on without ever even having to speak a word. The first night Jack had a nightmare that left him wide awake and shaking like a leaf, they both were up and out of bed to comfort him and calm him down enough to go back to sleep tucked up in the middle of the bed between his parents.


	6. Day VI, Episode Related: Bring It On Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set mid-13x18: Bring 'Em Back Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: References to torture, hell trauma, and cavorting with porn stars

**G** ABRIEL WAS GONE.

Asmodeus was dead, which was... good. That was good.

Gabriel was gone, along with his remaining Grace, which was... complicated. On the one hand, Sam could absolutely understand how rattled and overwhelmed Gabriel was probably feeling right now after having been (dubiously) rescued from seemingly eternal torment in Hell and then killing his tormentor in defense of Sam and Castiel. He could absolutely understand the need to get away and process things like "freedom" and "safety" before even trying to comprehend "Michael from another universe trying to invade and raze the Earth again because it didn't work so well in his own universe". He understood, and he did not blame Gabriel for wanting to get as far away from the situation in general and the Winchesters specifically as he possibly could. Not at all.

On the other hand, explaining what had happened to their only supply of Archangel Grace for the portal spell to Dean was not going to be fun.

Sam was willing to admit that he was hiding in the room that had been Gabriel's. He'd meant to come in and change the bedding and maybe clean off the walls, but even after the old sheets were carted off to the laundry room and fresh sheets put on in their place, he... stopped. Enochian was easier to read than speak, and Sam kept finding himself drawn to read the literal writing on the wall. Castiel had been mostly faithful in his recitation of the inscriptions, though "goes on quite a bit about the porn stars" was something of an understatement. What surprised him, though, was the section about Sam himself, detailing (a bit explicitly in places) exactly what Gabriel had thought of Sam, and how he'd been surprised by him... and by Castiel.

Sam left the room before he could read too much into some of the connotations in the words Gabriel had used to describe them both. He found himself in the kitchen, staring blankly at the coffee pot, and wondering how he had missed what even an Archangel had seen, and how he could make it up to Castiel for having been the world's shittiest friend.

_ Like you really think of him only as a friend. _

The sigh that escaped him was gusty and miserable. Castiel had lost so much since throwing in his lot with Dean and, later, with Sam, and yet not once had the angel complained within Sam's hearing. If anything, Castiel seemed to go out of his way to be there  _ for Sam _ , even when... no,  _ especially _ when Sam was too caught up in his own stupid problems that usually related to Dean in some way to really appreciate Castiel's loyal presence and assistance. Even when Sam did appreciate it right when it was happening, he was usually at a loss as to how to tell the angel that he was appreciated, even loved. As much as Dean used to tease Sam about always wanting to talk about his feelings, that hadn't really been the case in a very long time.

Well, if nothing else, he could try and show Castiel his gratitude. Sam would not have blamed the angel in the slightest if he had decided to take a leaf out of his older brother's book and skedaddle before Dean got back and started yelling and throwing things, but he hadn't said a word about leaving. After this long, even with the occasionally questionable state of Castiel's mental health or autonomy, he still trusted Castiel to tell him if he was going anywhere.

The Keurig was quick, brewing up a single mug of dark roast coffee directly into the mug Castiel usually favored when he joined them in the daily social ritual. Sam busied himself with adding the angel's preferred amount of sugar to the mug while the machine gently spat out a mugfull in Sam's preferred flavor, then carried both mugs towards the library. If Castiel was here, or even if he was planning to leave, the room with the rift would be the first place he would go to find Sam if he wanted to see him.

It turned out that Castiel had actually beaten him there. The angel sat in one of the library chairs, his trench coat off and carefully laid over the back of another chair. If that wasn't enough of a sign that he intended to stay, the plate on the table with a single diagonally-cut sandwich was further proof. Sam smiled a little, meeting Castiel's answering smile, and offered him the cup of coffee, then sat down opposite him and picked up one half of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

No words needed to be spoken.


	7. Day VII, Domestic: You Know It's Only Natural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the importance of wing maintenance and the social bonds among Angels and Nephilim in an unconventional flock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon (apparent) death of Gabriel, references to torture and hell memories

**I** T STARTED AS a matter of medical necessity.

Castiel was  _ persona non grata _ in Heaven, meaning he had no one to assist him with caring for and maintaining his wings besides the humans around him who, he assumed, could neither see nor touch his wings, much less help him straighten out the damage that they kept taking from demons and even fellow angels. When he discovered, completely by accident, that Sam could, in fact, see his wings, the two of them had sat down together for a frank discussion that had covered angelic social customs and culture as well as touched briefly on Sam's time in Hell. The end result was that they both decided that Sam was the closest thing Castiel was going to get to a friendly angel who could be trusted not to betray him or sabotage the grooming to impede the healing and make his wings worse. Therefore, Sam would have to be the one to assist Castiel with grooming despite their relationship being neither bondmates nor the typical  _ yera'aen _ and  _ enokua'odei _ dynamic found among the angelic hierarchies. At first, Castiel had tried to apologize whenever he required Sam's assistance, only for the hunter to gently but firmly tell him to shut up and accept the help. Castiel still felt awkward, as if he were taking advantage of Sam by asking, but he acquiesced and continued coming to Sam for help with straightening out bent or twisted feathers, pulling the broken ones, and massaging ointment and oils around the muscles and joints and into the healing membranes. Dean had walked in on them once, and walked straight back out again, muttering about "freaky invisible appendages".

It was the first thing that Castiel asked of Sam once he returned from the Empty, a quiet aside in the car as they drove back to the Bunker and Jack. Dean rolled his eyes and made a quip about them putting a sock on the door before Sam got handsy with Castiel, to which Sam rolled his eyes and which Castiel politely ignored. He knew from experience that Dean would just interrupt him and change the subject if he tried to explain anything, and after pitting his will against that of a primordial cosmic entity in order to return to his unconventional flock, he was "too tired to deal with Dean's shit".

There was a brief distraction of Jack having found them a case while they were gone, and a bit more of a distraction with Jack finally getting the chance to meet Castiel  _ out of _ utero, but since the idea of getting immediately back on the road after having just gotten back from a mentally and emotionally exhausting case was practically anathema to the human members of the flock, Dean wandered off to fall into bed and Sam disappeared to his room to pull out the "grooming kit" as he called it. He looked completely unsurprised to see Jack following behind Castiel when the angel entered the room, just smiled and nodded for Jack to take the desk chair while Castiel sat on the foot of the bed. Jack, curious child that he was, couldn't help but ask questions about the process, which Castiel answered as Sam went to work. Once or twice, Sam would beckon Jack closer so that he could see exactly what Sam's hands were doing, and another time it was to show him the difference between damaged feathers, healthy feathers, and new pinions growing in like spines.

It was several months before the three of them were in the same place again.

This time, it was Jack who initiated the grooming session, quietly stepping close to Castiel and confiding that his feathers had grown in while he was on the run and in the other universe. Castiel signaled to Sam, one of their private angelic gestures that had been adapted for human hands for their use, and slipped away from the celebrating humans to Sam's room, Jack in tow. Only Jack was surprised when Sam joined them a few minutes later and shut the door.

"You didn't need to leave the party," Jack started, his words stumbling over themselves as if unsure of their reception.

"Not much of a party when two out of the three most important people to me aren't even there," Sam answered with a shrug and took up a position on the left side of the bed behind Jack while Castiel sat on the right. "Besides, I get the feeling the three of us have our own celebration to tend to."

"We do?" Jack blinked, craning his head around to look at Sam in question.

"Angelic culture doesn't have very many rituals for remembrance of the fallen, given the connotations of the term," Castiel spoke up as he tapped the middle of Jack's back, encouraging him to spread his wings open. "However, none of us is wholly angelic, and Gabriel spent the last several hundred years among humans."

"Humans  _ do _ have several rituals for remembrance," Sam picked up as Jack complied with Castiel's silent direction. He waited for Castiel to start on the right wing, then reached up and began working the left wing in tandem, starting from the base where wings met back. "A hunter's funeral like we held for your mother--"  _ And Cas, _ he didn't say. "--would probably not be to Gabriel's liking, though, so I thought we might hold a private wake for him."

"Without the alcohol," Castiel added, wincing slightly. "It takes a considerable amount of alcohol to affect an angel, far more than it does for a human, and I am unsure what amount a Nephil would need to consume to become intoxicated. A wake is perhaps not the best occasion to test this."

"I don't know, Gabriel might actually have approved of his wake being used for that kind of test," Sam teased, then murmured a quick apology as untwisting one of Jack's feathers caused the whole wing to twitch sharply.

"It's fine," Jack said, brow furrowed. "I think it... tickled."

"That is normal," Castiel assured him. "You will become used to the sensation the more often your wings are groomed."

"Is that why you never mentioned your wings being ticklish?" Sam asked with studied innocence as he slanted a sideways look in Castiel's direction. His slight smirk was met by Castiel's flat stare and even flatter, "No," which made him need to bite the inside of his cheek to keep in his amusement.

"So what usually happens at a wake besides drinking alcohol?" Jack asked, relaxing slowly into the new sensations he was experiencing from having their hands buried in the feathers of his wings.

"Mostly a lot of storytelling," Sam answered him. "People who knew the departed gather together and tell stories about things they remember from the person's life, usually funny stories to keep the mood buoyant. The alcohol is usually to help break down the barriers of grief that might keep people from talking and remembering the good times because the pain of loss is still fresh for them."

"So, you want to... tell stories? About Gabriel?" Jack asked.

"If you want," Sam tempered his suggestion carefully. "I mean, you didn't really get a chance to know him for yourself beyond those few hours in the other world... and between me and Cas, we've got some pretty good stories about him..."

"Some better than others," Castiel murmured, and shared a look with Sam, who nodded. There would be no need to bring up the less than pleasant memories.

And so the evening passed companionably as the party beyond the closed door carried on and wound down. Castiel told stories of Gabriel the Archangel, playful and fun and patient with the younger angels, always with a kind word and a brush of wings for anyone who needed it. Sam told stories of Gabriel the Trickster, focusing on the non-lethal doling out of just desserts to deserving assholes like the fraternity pledge master who got "abducted by aliens" and a glancing mention of the professor who debunked mystery spots getting dropped in a wormhole for a week. Castiel joined Sam in speaking about the pocket dimension inside the warehouse which took them through various television shows including a sitcom parody of their own reality, carefully avoiding mention of what had happened after or why Gabriel claimed to have done it.

The stories continued long past when Jack's wings were preened and pristine. By unspoken agreement, they moved on to grooming Castiel's wings, Jack's eyes wide with wonder from both the stories and the way Castiel opened his wings trustingly to Jack's inexperienced hands as Sam guided him through the motions they both had just performed on Jack. And when the stories lasted even beyond the completion of Castiel's grooming, Sam took a deep breath and shyly relaxed the tight hold he kept on his own wings, allowing them to open for the touch of his dearest friend and their son, allowing them into that vulnerable place he had not dared to share with anyone else.

When Dean checked on them in the early hours after sunrise the next day, peeking cautiously through the crack of Sam's door, he found all three curled together in a knot of limbs amid three separate colors of stray feathers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the journey! ^_^


End file.
